


I'll Be Home for Sevenmas

by MadJJ



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, I don't know how I got there really, SanSan Secret Santa, Sansan Secret Santa 2020, WWII fusion, but now, it's here!, this one got away from me, with some apparitions from the Stark familly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 7,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28267068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadJJ/pseuds/MadJJ
Summary: For the prompt "I'll be Home for Christmas" for Ladywynne during the SanSan Secret Santa exchange!
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 19
Kudos: 23





	1. Immature

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyWynne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWynne/gifts).



> Hello! I'm late! I'm sorry! This got much longer than I anticipated, but I hope you will like it Ladywynne! Happy Holydays, and a Merry New Year!

Reality is always a lot more complex than stories will lead you to believe. Stories are told, and when something is told, it is shaped by the belief of the person doing the telling.

That was something Sansa took a long time to understand. Since her childhood, she had been collecting stories, then told them to herself, not realizing that eventually, she was the one shaping the narrative. Anything that wasn’t deemed important or interesting was discarded.

When she told herself stories about the South, Sansa would think of the warm winds and blue skies, the fashion and the glamour, the beautiful and the playful.

Maybe it was Sansa’s upbringing that had lead her to believe life could be a fairy tale. She had royal blood in her veins. Her father wasn’t a king, but their family had been time and time again called upon to look over the North for the Crown. Far from the scheming villain sometimes cast as the envious advisor, Lord Stark – for they even had a title, even if it held less meaning nowadays than in the days of old – was a close friend of the elected monarch of the Seven Kingdoms.

When the royal family visited Winterfell towards the end of the fifteen years of reign King Robert had been elected for, Sansa met Joffrey.

It was love at first sight. How could it not be? Everything aligned so perfectly! He was handsome, and kind, and had a promising career in politics. Sansa had always wanted to be at the side of someone who would work to help the people. And their fathers, their families were so close already! Who could frown upon a future union between them?

It did not take long for Sansa to decide she would go back to the capital with the Baratheons. The only cloud in view was Arya’s opinion on the matter.

“Don’t you know they hate the Northener in the South?”

Sansa huffed.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Arya. The Baratheons have been nothing but courteous and generous with us.”

“Yeah, sure, because Bob is friends with Dad -”

“Stop calling him ‘Bob’, that’s your king -” Sansa tried to protest.

“But what about the rest of the Southerners?” insisted Arya. “We keep hearing from Northerners who have to come back home after -”

“Stop this nonsense, Arya, it’s going to be just fine!” Sansa waved her needless worries away and kept on packing.

Her little sister was so immature still. You’d think a sixteen-year-old girl would know better than to listen to baseless rumors.


	2. To the South

The trip South was uncomfortable. The Baratheons owned one of the most innovative piece of machinery for transport. They hadn’t taken the train, preferring instead a transport that would allow them to choose their own roads and visit would they pleased. Joffrey was particularly fond of the car.

“It isn’t like anything you’d see in the North!”

He was right, Sansa had never seen such an exquisite car.

However, she did wish its fuel didn’t smell quite as much. And that its shaking wasn’t so nausea inducing. In a couple of days, her lovely complexion had turned a sickly yellow and she felt her stomach raise into her lungs at every turn.

Upon one of their halts, Sansa had walked away from the transport to breathe some air that wasn’t tainted by the smell. She found herself heaving while holding on to a tree, thanking the Old God and the New that Joffrey couldn’t see her. What would he think of her, acting so undignified?

“Careful, girl,” a gravely voice rose from behind her as a hand held onto her arm, all the sudden.

Sansa hadn’t realized she was as destabilized as she was. Without the hand, she would have fallen forward. She startled nonetheless. For someone to see her now…!

She raised her gaze to the man, and was silently relieved that it wasn’t Joffrey who had found her like this. She startled again when she saw the face of the man who had appeared. It took her but a second to school her features. It wasn’t uncommon to see wounded from the Great War, although she didn’t not expected to see the burned scars so suddenly.

“Not quite a girl,” the stranger corrected himself upon seeing her face.

Sansa rose up to her full height. She was a tall woman, but this man towered over even her. Between the confusion her dizziness had induced and the surprise at seeing him there, it took her a few seconds before she could say a word.

“… Thank you, sir.”

A short bark of a laugh came out of his mouth, before it returned to its down-turned expression. He looked away, and Sansa couldn’t help but stare while his attention was away.

No matter how rude it was, keeping her eyes away from the unusual map of scars on the side of his face seemed nigh impossible. More than morbid curiosity, Sansa had detected a hint of something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. When he turned his gaze back to her, a stone lodged itself in her throat. There it was.

Whatever softness had laid in his eyes disappeared just as quickly behind a fog of quiet rage.

“A little lady like you shouldn’t give me her thanks. What are you doing so far away from your kind?”

The question had Sansa stuttering and her legs shook before she recovered her balance.

“M-my kind?”

Arya’s warning echoed back to her, but – no, the rumors were simply too ridiculous to believe. No one would judge someone else based on nothing but the country they came from.

“Yeah, the rich kind. Don’t you know us peasants are dangerous to defenseless little ladies?”

The hand that had been squeezing her heart up into her throat released its hold and Sansa straightened her back.

“Defenseless little ladies?” she repeated, outraged.

“Do you always repeat -”

“I’ll have you know,” she continued, because she was not done and it wasn’t rude to interrupt someone when you were interrupted first, “that I’m not defenseless, nor am I little! Pray tell, sir, why would you come up to me offering a seemingly helping hand, only to provoke me in the next breath?”

Having used up all the courage she could muster, Sansa turned on her heels and walked away. Her heart was beating fast into her chest and she could not afford to look back and see his reaction. Even as she realized she was not on the right path to go back to the car.

At least, this time away from the machine had cleared her mind.

Sansa made a turn to avoid going back to where the man had found her and return to her fiancé. Meanwhile, she thought back on the strange exchange.

‘us peasants’, he had said. What by the Seven might he have meant by that? He had seen she was noble, probably due to her hairstyle and her clothes. No everyone could afford a dress lined with silk and fur, nor had the time to style their hair into perfect pin curls. She rested her hand on the base on her throat where the necklace Joffrey had given her rested. The yellow stone wasn’t quite cold, nor was it the amber that complimented her hair, but she loved it all the same for he had given it to her. It was also another sure indicator of her status.

The man, on the other hand, didn’t seem so poor himself. His clothes were simple and rough, but they looked of good quality – even if they were two fashions late.

Sansa decided to put him out of her mind as she returned to her travel companions. Queen Cersei was bemoaning that the speed of their transport was of little use when the rest of their court was slowing them down by using lesser methods, and Sansa almost agreed, before Kind Robert told her to quit her whining.

Better stay out of it, before it turned into another battle of snide remarks.


	3. Happiness Awaits

The rest of their journey was punctuated by more blissful stops where Sansa isolated herself for a few moments to regain her countenance away from anyone’s eyes. She didn’t want to shame Joffrey by her disheveled appearance and so she took great care in looking presentable whenever she came back. No yellow sickly glow or stray hair for this Lady Stark, she told herself. She also had a rank to uphold.

Arriving in King’s Landing was a relief to say the least. No more travel in that beast of steel that Joffrey had so much affection for.

Sansa had pictured King’s Landing looking like it had in its glorious days, back when Kings fought over the now melted Iron Throne. They said after Daenerys had sat on it, she had ordered her dragons to destroy it to reforge the sovereignty. It had changed again several times over since, but the Iron Throne was a symbol of an era.

The only recognizable relics of that time were the Red Keep crumbling towers and the Temple of the Seven. Everything else was of this time. Glass, steel, mud and smoke, nothing quite as glamorous as Sansa had hoped. Once they entered the city however, they took streets that satisfied her taste. The best of modernity was offering itself to her. Perfumes, clothes, jewelry and the finest of objects were advertised in the vitrines, the women and men that walked down the streets in top hats and scandalous high heels were as elegant as she had thought they would be. All that she would have had to wait for weeks to travel up North was now at her reach.

Joffrey smiled as he saw her being swept up by the sight, and every surprised exclamation was accompanied by his warm laughter.

She would be happy here.


	4. Omissions

In the first letter to her mother, Sansa described how beautiful the sights were, how kind Joffrey was with her, how she wished her family could have seen all she had seen thus far.

She didn’t tell her that King’s Landing’s smell was as hard to acclimate to as the car’s was, nor did she tell her that sometimes, Joffrey felt a little distant.

She didn’t make notice of it in her second or third letter, nor did she say anything about how the fights between the royal couple made the manor that was their home shake more and more as the last year of King Robert’s reign neared its end.

She did, however, write to her family about the strange man she had met on the road and who had turned out to be part of the Baratheon’s security team.

If she could complain about anything, then it would be a staff member who didn’t have any manners. After their first encounter, he had taken to nickname her Little Bird. It wasn’t nearly as insufferable as Sansa described it in her letter, she had had the time to calm down since her small outburst at being called defenseless.

It was true, in a way. As she grew up, she had realized she was the only one of her siblings who hadn’t taken an interest in a weapon or anything fighting related. She was much more interested in politics. Sansa would never admit it, but that was the one thing she envied Arya, if only a little bit. She had never thought she would need to fight for herself as a child, but then she had become a woman and made all the more aware of how men viewed her.

But that was why Sandor Clegane, the man who had mocked her in the woods, was there for, he and his colleagues. For her safety.

Strangely, while he seemed to enjoy provoking her, he was the only one she had never actively felt unsafe with. There was something in the gaze of the other guards…

Well. Maybe she was imagining it. It was easy to feel alone so far from Winterfell. The number of times Sansa had thought she saw one of the chambermaids or a butler throw her a snide side-way glance showed just how lost she felt.


	5. Sweet Stuff

Sansa couldn’t sleep. She stepped out of her room without a sound, practiced in the way of threading corridors discretely due to years spent in a house where six siblings could have used her nighttime trip to the kitchen as blackmail material.

There wasn’t any lemon cake in the fridge, but she did find a couple of bottles, which she put aside, and some leftover meringues that must have been at least a week old. Nothing anyone would miss, and she could always mention it to the cook before breakfast.

Sansa’s brow furrowed as she took a bite out of the desert. The cook hadn’t taken any of her suggestion on the menus, waiting until Cersei had confirmed that it was something the two lady and the future second lady of the house had discussed. Sansa wondered why her tastes were discarded here when she had been complimented on her culinary skills numerous times in Winterfell. She didn’t cook or bake more than once a month, but the cooks there had always been happy to help her come up with something to prepare.

The meringue melted on her tongue, giving her the sugar rush she had been longing for. After Joffrey had made an off-hand comments about how pitiful it was to see a lady forget to take care of her figure, Sansa had been hesitant to let herself enjoy anything sugary in his presence.

The lights turned on and Sansa turned around, her hand still holding the rest of a meringue and her mouth covered with sugar.

She stayed like a deer in the headlights under Sandor Clegane’s scrutiny who was lowering the hand he had brought to the weapon at his belt.

“Do you promise not to say I was here if I give you some meringue?” Sansa asked, showing the last two that were still on a plate.

Sandor huffed.

“I’m not into… Sweet stuff.”

“There are some bottles of White Arbor, if you want them?”

“I don’t drink while - You don’t need to bribe me! And someone will wonder where they went.”

“I brought them with me as a gift. The cook was supposed to use it in a meal, but apparently its taste does not suit the delicacies of the South cuisine.”

She grabbed the bottle with the three fingers that hadn’t been tainted by sugar yet, and handed it to him.

“I’d be glad if someone at least enjoyed it. If there’s any more wait to drink it, it will slowly start to turn into vinegar.”

Sandor didn’t answer anything to that, frowning at the bottle. After a few moments, Sansa resumed eating the meringues, decided not to let his hovering spoil her snack. He left without a word, and so did she once she was done.

The next morning, the bottle was gone.


	6. What Makes a Place home

While Joffrey was perfectly capable of moving in the world in his own, Sansa had intended to help him doing so. She had thought this would be perfect to distract her while she was still adjusting to this new city, this new life… But advice was not something Joffrey needed. He had told her so plain and simple. After that, Sansa had kept her comments to herself, else he’d think she was insulting him by insinuating he didn’t know what he was doing.

She still observed.

The first time she got worried over the situation was when King Robert did not deny the law that Tywin Lannister demanded he passed on traveling. Winter was coming soon, after a ten-year long summer. It would have been the perfect time to relieve the people of some taxes in the prosperous Seven Kingdom, and to facilitate transactions so food could get stocked everywhere to prepare. Preventing an economic crash was always a priority in these times.

Instead, each passage between kingdoms would be tolled double. If caught traveling outside of the roads, a fine five times as expensive as the toll would be imposed. This was presented as a way to fight against some agitation in the Salt Lands, yet the first frontier receiving additional guards would be the one between the North and the rest of the kingdoms.

The second alarming sign came when Sansa opened the Lannisterport Herald. She usually read the Thorn’s Report, and was confounded to see what kind of articles made it onto the page.

“I don’t see anything that isn’t true,” Joffrey told her when she brought it p to him.

“But… The phrasing, it’s insidious. Clearly, it’s blaming the North for the recent upheavals -”

“Clearly? No, no, you’re just seeing suggestions where there is nothing but facts. Don’t worry, Sansa, I know you’re not one of those savages.”

The declaration sealed her mouth shut. She was so shocked she let him kiss her on the cheek and leave the room without a word. She shook herself out and decided to walk in the garden to clear her mind.

Was she seeing things? No, there was just too much to ignore. And what he had just said, surely, he didn’t mean to imply…?

Sansa’s feet led her into the furthest part of the garden, underneath weeping willows. It reminded her of home, despite the lack of pond or sacred tree to pray at. She sat on a mossy rock, and had an almost spiteful thought for the chambermaid who would have to clean her dress. The suddenness of it took her by surprise. When was the last time she had indulged in such gratuitous negativity?

… Or… Was it really gratuitous? Indecipherable whispers floated back to her. That feeling of being unwelcome here, it had started since the very beginning -

“Hey! You!”

Her train of thought was abruptly derailed and she jumped to her feet, ready to flee. The heel of her left shoe dug deep in the dirt, slowing her down before she had even began to move. She should have remembered she was wearing high heels before coming here!

When she finally found the one who had called her, it was to meet Joffrey’s favorite bodyguard.

“Oh,” he said, looking uncharacteristically bashful. He expression faded in a second as he continued, “I didn’t realize it was you.”

Sansa supposed this would be as close to an excuse as she’d get.

“Who did you think it would be?”

He shrugged. His shoulder barely moved, while the rest of him stayed there, like a wall between the trees.

“Ah – there’s been a few thieves as of late.”

“Thieves? I hadn’t heard anything had been stolen.”

He brought up a large hand to scratch the side of his face, his fingertips digging in his beard. It wasn’t covering enough skin to cover up his scars. Sansa had noticed he would brush his hair to hide as much as he could of it.

“They mostly steal apples and tomatoes.”

Sansa stifled a laugh. He didn’t look so frightening now that she knew what he had been hunting for.

“And it didn’t occur to you someone might take a walk here?”

“It’s too bloody cold for that!”

Cold? Now that he mentioned it, there might have been a small bite to the wind, but nothing that wasn’t fought off with a fur scarf like the one she had taken with her.

“You weren’t walking. Why are you here?”

Suddenly reminded of what had brought her there, Sansa returned to her previous thoughts. Curiously, despite taking pleasure at japing at her expense, Sandor’s behavior had never felt quite as malicious as the indirect animosity from the rest of the staff.

“I was thinking… About how this place doesn’t feel like home yet,” she said with more honesty than intended.

Sansa sat back down. Sandor had started leaning on the nearest tree. There were five respectable steps between the two them, and there was no indecency whatsoever to their situation, yet Sansa felt more exposed than she had in weeks. When was the last time she had allowed herself to speak a word without doubting every possible consequence it could have?

“You live here. You sleep here. You have your own room and every possible commodity at your disposal. I’m not sure what more you could be asking for.”

The cynicism in his words didn’t translate into his tone as much as it could have. Sansa decided to take it as a question rather than a critic of her materialistic character.

“But that’s not what makes a place home. Home is somewhere… Somewhere where you feel warm and happy even when it’s snowing. Home is a place where you know your heart will be safe with the people you love, somewhere you go back to when you need comfort. It’s… You were right. It’s cold here.”

Sansa expected him to make fun of her flowery language or about her being delusional. He had a way of taking her words and making her sound naive and fragile, something that needed to toughen up. But… He did listen. When he took her words, he didn’t twist them, he just shone a new light on them and made her realize what they sounded like to others.

This time, he took her by surprise. He stayed silent for a few, long seconds. When he spoke, it wasn’t to tell her she was silly or needed to rethink her priorities.

“I supposed I wouldn’t know what that’s like,” he said quietly.

The baritone of his voice made the words rumbled to loud for them to be ignored, yet he had said them without any bite and Sansa hadn’t been sure she had heard him right.

Another moment passed in silence while Sansa stared at the peeling bark of a tree.

“I need to work harder,” she decided, talking to herself more than to him, “on making this place home. I just need some more time to adapt, that is all.”

“You can’t force things to be the way you want them to be, Little Bird.”

She huffed at the nickname and got up from the rock. If she stayed any longer, she’d have to acknowledge the truth behind his words.


	7. A Trip To Find Home

Newspaper became sparer in the house. Sansa supposed Joffrey didn’t want her to be upset. King Robert’s shouting match with his wife were upsetting enough. Sansa didn’t dare talk to her fiancé about it. He was always in a somber mood after those incidents.

The Holiday of the Mother would soon be upon them and despite her best efforts, Sansa couldn’t help but long for Winterfell. Maybe, after seeing a place she had had no issue calling home all her life again, Sansa could find what was lacking in this new one?

When she brought up her intention to travel back for a few days, a silence fell upon the dining table. The only sounds were made by King Robert’s spoon scraping in his bowl. After a few seconds, he said:

“That sounds like a good idea.”

Cersei’s head snapped in his direction.

“I don’t think so. Going through the frontier, in these times?”

“Isn’t this why I singed that bloody law?” King Robert put down his spoon and stared back at his wife.

His voice was naturally loud, but he hadn’t risen it yet. Sansa knew the signs well enough by now to know a storm was brewing.

“I-it was just an idea -” Sansa started, ready to retract herself in order to preserve the delicate peace in the house.

“No, you must see your family some time,” Robert cut her short. “You’ll go for the day of the Mother, I’ll send someone for your protection with you if needed.”

Sansa’s throat had run dry. She didn’t dare speak again, didn’t even risk a glance in Joffrey’s direction on her left.

Cersei got up abruptly, pushing the table with both her hands, and left her still full bowl there.

The rest of the meal continued in a deeply uncomfortable silence. Once Robert was gone, Sansa tried to talk to Joffrey, but he left without giving her a word. The only thing Sansa could get from him was a scowl and a glare.

Sansa went to her room, locked the door and sat on her bed. Her pillow was made of swan feathers and her sheets were washed and perfumed every week. On the wall, in front of her, there was a mirror lined with enough electric lights to lighten up a full house, something worth enough to feed someone for a year.

Sansa scanned every expensive in her room until her eyes had gotten too blurry with tears for her to tell them apart. She covered her mouth with her hand to contain an ugly sob, but soon, her whole body was shaking and she had to bury her head into the pillow to avoid making a sound.

Fifteen minutes later, most of her outburst had subsided, but tears were still rolling down her cheeks. A knock on the door made her startle out of the bed.

“A minute!” she said, hurrying over to rearrange her hair and face in the mirror.

It must have been Joffrey. He would want to talk to her now – but she was a disaster! Sansa gave up on trying to touch up her makeup, it would take too long. She simply tucked back her curls in her up-do, and wiped her face. She turned off the lights and hoped the grey clouds would filter the sun rays pouring in from the window enough that her face wouldn’t look too puffy.

When she opened the door in a record time, she found a bodyguard standing in place of her fiancé.

A very specific bodyguard.

His eyes went wide when he saw her face, but he schooled his features just as quickly.

Great, just what she needed.

“King Robert told me I would accompany you to Winterfell for a few days.”

“Oh. He already asked.” Sansa said stupidly. “I wasn’t sure I’d even make the trip...”

She hadn’t felt this silly in a very long time, standing in this corridor and doubting herself on something as simple as a little trip home in front of a man who would have to spend several days actively working to protect her, depending on her decision in the matter.

“I wanted to tell you ahead so you wouldn’t be surprised. I’ll go now.”

He turned around and walked down the corridor stiffly, taking large steps to get away from her. Men are uncomfortable in the presence of tears, Sansa remembered her Septa saying.

Sandor turned around at the last moment.

“You should go. Make the trip.”

It seemed like he was trying to tell her something else as he spoke, something important, but then, he was gone.


	8. To Be Selfish

A few days later, King Robert became sick. It became completely out of the question for Sansa to leave; how could she go to her family for the holydays when her host was bed-bound? She was more than willing to help Cersei take care of him. Something told her than the queen being forced to spent so much time in the same room as her husband would lead to disaster.

Joffrey was still angry with her for causing a fight between his parents. A selfish part of Sansa hoped that being present to try and alleviate tension would help him forgive her.

The day before the Day of the Mother, she was carrying a letter downstairs. It was for her Mother. While the house had a telephone she was free to use, Winterfell reception was so bad they barely ever used it. The safest way to send her good wishes to her mother was through the postal service. She hoped it would arrive at its destination, several of her letters had been lost in the previous weeks and she had the feeling she hadn’t receive everything that had been sent to her.

At the bottom of the grand staircase, she stumbled upon Sandor. When the greeting she gave him met no response, she turned back to him.

"Is... Is everything alright?"

His eyes were furrowed and his lips clasped in a tense line. Sandor's eyes always made her think of a raging storm, but that day, they were darker than ever.

"You should go," he said.

"I - what? Go where?"

"To Winterfell, like you had planned. I can still accompany as Robert has instructed."

"I can't leave now!" she protested. "King Robert is too sick - it would be incredibly selfish to leave Queen Cersei alone to take care of him -"

"Then be selfish!" he pressed in a whisper, "He'll still have his doctors and his nurses in addition to Cersei, you have to-"

He stopped mid-sentence when a sound came from the room next to theirs.

"You have to leave," he said rapidly under his breath, before turning away.

Sansa blinked after him. Why would he tell her something so cryptic? Was this some sort of joke at her expense?

The idea was upsetting. He may have made fun of her on some occasions, but he had never lied or tricked her. For him to want her gone… It almost felt like losing a friend. Sansa had grown attached to the way he would sometimes roll his eyes at something someone said, specifically when she was looking at him, or the way his gruff demeanor seemed to hide some genuine concern. Even the nickname he had given her had started to grow on her.

Sansa sniffed and realized she was on the verge of crying in the corridor. She quickly put her letter on top of the rest of the correspondence that would be sent out that morning, then went back to her room so she wouldn’t burst into tears in the middle of the hall.


	9. She-Wolf

King Robert seemed to get better, when suddenly he did not at all.

“Call the doctor!” Sansa ordered the chambermaid who had just arrived, “tell him King Robert started vomiting blood!”

Sansa did not know what she could do as she waited by the king’s side for the panicked maid to fetch help. In fact, there was nothing she could as he emptied his stomach from the porridge she had been feeding him. His illness had not been identified, but the doctor had told them he would soon be back on his feet!

“Ned…” Robert called “I want to see Lyanna – Lyanna -”

Sansa put a hand over her mouth to contain her sob. What could she do? What could she say to help him?

He gave his last breath as Cersei and the chambermaid came back into the room.

Sansa was so shocked she did not understand what the maid had said immediately.

“It’s her! It’s the she-wolf, she told me to leave so she could kill him proper!”

The maid was pointing an accusatory finger at Sansa, who sat there, dumbfounded.

“Now, now, let’s not jump to conclusion. A proper investigation will decide what really happened here.”

Cersei’s tone has a cutting edge that had nothing to do with grief. In fact, nothing in the queen’s demeanor resembled sadness or even anger.

“Sansa. I think it would be best if you went back to your room now.”

Sansa was still too shocked to hear the sound of the key turning in her bedroom’s door’s lock.


	10. Whispers

Whispers she had only barely detected before became louder. They would no longer try to hide it, as they spoke in the corridor, right in front of her door.

“She was pregnant on the way here. I heard she kept vomiting. Then suddenly, at the capital, she’s better? She made it passed is what happened. She hid it so she could get Mr. Baratheon to marry her.”

“Have you seen the way she was always staying close to the King? She wanted to steal him from Mrs. Baratheon. When he didn’t let her get what she wanted, she killed him!”

“A drunk, that one. The cook couldn’t find bottle of White Arbor after she arrived. Full bottles! Can you imagine, at her age? I know they would nurse their babies with beers in the North, but to be such a drunkard at eighteen?”

“She didn’t drink that bottle.”

Time stood still as silence fell on the other side of the door. Sansa had been eavesdropping, as she did every time someone came by, but it wasn’t anything to fret over when one eavesdropped on conversation that was meant to spread rumors about themselves.

The voice that had spoken in her defense was unmistakable.

“I did. Cook forgot about it, but it was given to me. Now don’t you have somewhere to be?”

The sounds of steps faded away as whoever had been speaking left. It was irrational to feel so much relief over such a small thing, but to know that Sandor didn’t hate her like the rest of the staff did took a weight off her heart.

Sansa went to sit on her bed and stared at her hands. It had been several days since King Robert’s death now, and no one had told her about why she was locked there yet. Cersei had mentioned a proper investigation but… Why did she suspect Sansa? Was there even someone to blame for what had happened?

The only contact she’d had with people outside was when she was brought food, and she didn’t feel like she’d have been better treated in a prison. The meals themselves had such a suspicious look about them she’d been putting off eating, sometimes even skipping the whole ordeal and throwing the food out as discreetly as possible. There had been only two-bathroom trips over the course of three days.

There was a knock on the door, and Sansa looked at the clock. At least, she still had that to know what time it was, and it wasn’t the time for her meal.

She got to her feet with apprehension. Knocking wasn’t usual either, for that matter. Normally whoever came by would simply unlock the door, come in as quick as possible, then leave.

A key turned in the lock and it opened on Sandor’s large figure. He looked left and right before coming in.

No matter the situation, Sandor never seemed anxious, at worst he was annoyed. Today, his eyes betrayed genuine worry.

He closed the door behind him and stood there. He was looking at her with a cryptic expression, without saying a word.

“… Can you tell me when I can leave my room? Am I going to be interrogated?”

Sandor opened his mouth, then closed it and pulled out a newspaper from inside his jacket. He gave it to her, looking away as she read the headline.

“’The Northerner She-Wolf Poisons the King’? No this can’t be this – this is slander!”

“This is the truth, for the whole kingdom. It’s written in every article, relayed by the radio. Everyone believes it.”

“But, but it’s not true – I haven’t – how could I possibly have –”

Words escaped her. She looked up at Sandor, panicked.

“You know it’s not true, don’t you?”

“Of course, Little Bird –”

“And Joffrey and Cersei, surely they must know –”

“This is the Lannisters’ newspaper, Little Bird. They’re the one selling this to the world.”


	11. Joffrey

Joffrey’s visit to her turned out much more unpleasant than any amount of homesickness up until now.

“You see,” he told her, holding her chin too tight between his index and his thumb, “I thought I could overlook all of your Northern roughness. You have such a pretty face, it’s easy to forget where you come from.”

He let go of her face, then wiped his hand on a handkerchief that he threw on the ground without much more care.

“But in the end, you are what you are. It would never have worked,” he concluded as he locked the door behind him.

The visit left a sour taste in Sansa’s mouth and more tears to wet her pillow.


	12. Too Kind For This Place

It had been a week since she had been locked up. For some reasons, the ones who would once have become her family and had now turned her captors had not sent her to an actual prison, preferring to keep her there.

Through the door, Sansa listened to every sound she could make out. She had already several whispers exchanged with a manic excitement over the beginning of hostilities between the North and the Crownlands. Every other kingdom was relying following peace treaties and old alliances. Sansa didn’t need to hear who would be and whose side from the maids. She already knew who would answer to what call.

What confounded her was the apparent glee in some of their voices as they talked of the death and desolation that would come. They could not wait to hear how many Northerner would perish under the innovative bombs that hadn’t been tested yet.

The next visit she received was at the dead of night. She had been laying on her bed, unable to sleep as she wondered what she could have done to prevent any of this from happening. She should have paid more attention. She should have seen all the warning signs.

Sandor entered in her room without a sound, but she couldn’t ignore the hulking figure suddenly standing in front of the door.

A mixture of fear and doubt invaded her as she clutched her sheets to cover her nightdress. After a few seconds, Sansa turned on the light by her bed, moving slowly.

He didn’t step closer. When he spoke, his rumbling voice couldn’t carry past the door, but resonated in the silence of the night.

“I was sure you would get me fired after what I told you the day we met.”

If he wasn’t going to acknowledge their strange situation, then neither would she.

“Why would I get you fired over that?” she whispered back.

He looked at her with a meaning hidden in his eyes, one she couldn’t decipher.

“You tolerate a lot more than you should.”

“I don’t understand what you mean -”

“You’re too kind for this place is what I mean. You never belonged here, Little Bird.”

“Are you going to tell me I’m too delicate again -”

“I’m telling you I’m going to help you escape.”

Sansa stared, mouth open. Why would he -?

“Get ready, now. We’re going before Joffrey decides your death would galvanize his troops. I’ll get you home.”


	13. To Be Happy

Sansa didn’t dare to question her luck. Even if it was a trap, which she could fathom it would be, it was probably her best chance. Several kingdoms were demanding her head on a spike, and the only ally she had left was Sandor.

She didn’t know why he would do this for her. He always seemed slightly annoyed at her, but when she looked back at her months in King’s Landing, he was the only one whose presence had brought her some form of comfort. What a fool she had been to overlook every stab at her from the staff, from Cersei… from Joffrey.

As they went past the luxurious car in the garage to get to the stables, she couldn’t contain the question any longer.

“Why are you doing this?”

He seemed annoyed at the question, but they had to wait anyway. Two of his colleagues were smoking a cigarette in front of the stables, blocking they path to their escape. Taking the car would be too noisy, and Sansa doubted either of them knew how to drive it.

Finally, when it appeared Meryn and Boros would not disappear magically within the next five minutes, he sighed and answered:

“You wanted to go home. And… The way you talked about it, it’s…”

He paused and looked for words for a few moments.

“I’ve never had a home, not the way you described it. You never should have landed in this mess of a situation in the first place. You deserve to be happy.”

A warm feeling filled Sansa’s belly and her heart jolted in her chest. That was the nicest thing she had heard in a very long time.

She tip-toed to get closer to him, and laid a quick kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t answer, and in the darkness, she couldn’t decipher his expression. She slipped her hand in his, and he didn’t take it back.

Once they were gone, she whispered:

“Let’s both go home.”

He squeezed her hand and they left the garage. They went into the stables, took a tall and dark beast that could easily carry both of them and the bags Sandor had packed, and they were gone into the night.


	14. Priorities

Photos of Sansa had been published in the papers, a reward set for whoever would bring her back, alive or dead. A car didn’t need to sleep, a horse did. They journey would be hell. They stayed away from the roads, went through the woods that hadn’t been cut down to make room for factories or farms.

When they absolutely had to, they would return to civilization. Sansa looked nothing like the lady in the photos after days spent without washing or sleeping properly. Sandor had packed travelling clothes which They used until they were full of holes and dirt. She would sow them back together when they stopped for the night in the dim light of the smallest of fires that they would light to cook their food, before snuffing it out before they were found.

They heard news from the War. From a small conflict between two forces, it had quickly grown into Sansa what had feared. Every kingdom was getting involved, old griefs were brought up, everyone was questioning everyone’s allegiance.

Throughout the days, Sandor never took advantage of their forced proximity, even after Sansa suggested they lay down underneath the same cover to be warmer.

Sansa was infinitely grateful for everything he was doing for her, and could not understand how he hadn’t demanded anything from her yet.

In truth, she had half a mind of taking advantage of the nights spent together. They were lost, a War raging while they tried to survive. She didn’t know if she would survive each day that came. Why should they ignore what was slowly blossoming between them?

Whenever she tried to bring up the subject though, something else seemed to take importance, like their need to sleep or hunt whatever they could get their hand on.


	15. Shots Fired

The morning had a biting cold to it that announced the coming of winter. Sansa knew they were close to the frontier with the North, which hadn’t been breached by either army yet. They had not gone to the Twins, but further down the river where they hoped they could find a more discreet path.

They had cleaned up all trace of they passage in the clearing.

Sansa was climbing on the horse when someone yelled. They had been found, and so close to the border, there was no way this could end well if they lingered.

Sansa finished mounting by slumping on the horse’s back, destabilized by its jerk of panic. She turned to Sandor, waiting for him to climb after her. The yelling got closer, and a man appeared between the trees. Sandor looked between his gun in his hand and Sansa.

“I’ll be home for Sevenmas,” he said before hitting the rear of the horse with his hand.

Sansa yelled out a protest, but the beast had already started running. She turned around, jostled by the horse’s running, and barely managed to see Sandor wipe out his gun to hold back their pursuers.

Shots fired, some of which almost hit her. With tears in her eyes, she pressed closer to the horse back and prayed.


	16. The North Remembered

Sansa wanted to wait for him, she wanted to get back, but she knew how fruitless it would have been. Even if he was still… Even if she went back, the place had been found out by men from the Lannister army. Sandor would have fled far away from there.

Using her poor navigation skills and the few tips she remembered her siblings mention whenever they came back from hikes, Sansa continued her journey. She regretted not accompanying them more often now.

Ultimately, the north remembered her.


	17. Are We Home Yet?

Finding her family again led her to shed more tears than she had left. Sansa couldn’t stop the apologies from falling from her lips. When she saw Arya, the apologies became somewhat more coherent.

“You were right, I should have listened to you. I am so sorry, Arya, you were right! I was just being a silly little girl –”

“Shh, shh now,” her mother took her in her arms. “You’re safe now. You’re home.”

Sansa let herself engulf in their embrace further still.

She slept for two days, too tired to say anything else.


	18. Even A Rumor?

As much as her tears had flown, words were harder to get out. She couldn’t tell them about what had transpire in King’s Landing for long before her tongue got locked to the roof of her mouth. Speaking about her journey back was a bit easier, but only just so.

For some reason though, speaking about Sandor was not nearly as arduous. Several times, she asked her father through the telegram:

“Did anyone hear from him? Even a rumor?”

And every time, the answer would be the same.

“No, not today Sansa. Maybe soon.”

Sevenmas. He had said he would be back for Sevenmas.

Sansa waited.


	19. Sevenmas

Sevenmas passed.


	20. Hope

Sansa had stayed up all night. She could feel a burn in her eyes as she had fought the sleep. Her mother and siblings had forced her to go back to her room, but she had avoided her bed. If she waited a little bit longer, he would be there.

When it was not so early anymore that she was afraid they would force her back into her room, Sansa left and went to the courtyard.

Winterfell was too far into the North to be in any danger spare the bombings. They had been able to destroy any plane that threaten to get near and the only places affected were near the border, so Sansa felt no fear as she stepped outside Winterfell’s walls.

There was only one thing.

Hope.


	21. The End

The cold in addition to her sleepless night made her eyes close on their own. She didn’t see him before he was right there, and when he spoke to her.

“Little Bird.”

She dug her fingernails into her palms to see if it was all a dream, but he was still there.

“You’re late.”

She closed the distance between them and took him in his arms.

“But you’re home, you’re finally home!”

For this brief moment, everything else faded. The ongoing war was but a murmur in the very far distance, and all that was left was them.


End file.
